A Paradise Lost
by zerotherat
Summary: Two enemies pitted together for survival. Revenge, danger, and choices that can change the world. Can Hermione and Draco overcome their differences and work together to survive against all odds? A portkey adventure that will end up in many different places and cultures around the world.
1. Chapter 1

"You understand the importance of this task, do you not?"

Draco Malfoy nodded once, his pale eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.

"Yes, father."

Lucius Malfoy surveyed him critically, his own pale eyes narrowed. "If you succeed in this, you will bring great honor upon our family. The Dark Lord has gifted you with this opportunity. You will not fail."

Draco swelled with pride, one hand gently brushing against the pale arm on which the black Dark Mark had been burned. "I will show Him that I am worthy, father."

"Your aunt has been preparing you most thoroughly, I hear."

Draco flinched, remembering the hours his aunt Bellatrix had spent training him. Her form of teaching seemed to mostly consist of throwing dark hexes and Unforgivable Curses at him until he was weak and exhausted, wracked with pain and delirium. But he much preferred that to the mental training he received, where Bellatrix ripped through his mind, tearing it to shreds while teaching him Occulmency.

"Yes, she has," he replied dully.

Lucius allowed a small smile to grace his lips. "You will not fail," he said again.

"I will not fail," Draco repeated, determination etched on his proud, cold face.

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He had failed. Draco slammed a fist into the stone wall, fury coursing through him. Everything had begun as planned. Madam Rosmerta, the lusty barmaid down at The Three Broomsticks, was ridiculously easy to Imperius. She had taken the cursed necklace and given it to Katie Bell, with strict instructions to deliver it to Albus Dumbledore and to not let it come in contact with her skin. Bell had then been Oblivated from remembering who had given her the necklace., and she had made her way in a daze back to her friend, insisting they needed to leave. With a bemused glance, her friend had agreed, and the two had stepped out from the warm confines of the pub into the frigid October air.

That's when the plan took a wrong turn to hell.

Apparently the stupid girl had a hole in her glove, and the cursed necklace had brushed against her bare palm. Draco had watched as she was lifted into the air, arms outstretched, before falling to the snowy ground like a sad, broken puppet. To make matters worse, bloody Harry Potter and his motley sidekicks had witnessed the whole event, summoning help before Draco could get the necklace back. And, just as a final heaping of failure, Potter had turned accusing emerald eyes toward blundering oaf, Hagrid, who showed up to help and had declared in a loud, firm voice for all to hear, "It was Malfoy." Luckily, McGonagall was unable to prove he had any involvement in the botched assassination attempt, and Draco was able to slink back to Hogwarts as Potter was, yet again, hailed as a hero.

Dismayed at the failure of his first plan, he had made his way back to the Room of Requirement, where his most prized possession was hidden.

He sighed as he ran a hand down the side of the Vanishing Cabinet. Fixing this would be his crowning achievement, the means to restoring his family's reputation with the Dark Lord. His plan was so simple it was almost ridiculous. His Cabinet had a mate, another one just like it in Knockturn Alley. All Draco had to do was repair the thing, and he would be able to transfer Death Eaters from Knockturn Alley right into Hogwarts. He smirked, imagining the panic and chaos that would be caused as the Dark Lord's most ardent followers rampaged through the sacred hallowed halls, purging the school of the filth that were Mudbloods.

His smirk slipped into a dark scowl, though, as he surveyed the Vanishing Cabinet. Fixing it sounded so easy, and yet it was proving to be far more difficult. He had been working on it for close to a month now and still hadn't made any noticeable progress. He sighed in frustration. The Dark Lord had welcomed him into his ranks early into the summer, branding his smooth forearm with his Mark. His very first order to Draco had been to entrust him with a most important mission: to kill Albus Dumbledore. To do so would repair his family's tarnished reputation in the eyes of the Dark Lord, a reputation that had become all the more stained with his father's failure at the Ministry last August. Potter and his wretched pals had cost the Malfoy family deeply, and here was Draco's chance to avenge his surname and gain his family honor and favor. The only problem was, much like repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, killing Albus Dumbledore was infinitely easier said than done. And if Draco failed, it would be his own life that was forfeit.

Well, at least he still had the lovely Miss Rosmerta under his command. She had proven useful so far, and he had an inkling of an idea that could use her. Perhaps…poisoned mead sent to Dumbledore? Maybe as a Christmas present…from Professor Slughorn? He smirked. Clean and untraceable back to him. It just might work.

With that thought in mind, he returned to his work on the Cabinet with a renewed fervor, visions of power and fortune dancing in his mind.

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Hermione Granger was an incredibly intelligent girl. She understood that her greatest asset was her mind, and she took pride in honing it to a keen edge. She was observant and logical, which was quite the opposite of Harry and Ron's reckless abandon. Her logic was what allowed her calm and pacify the boys when they were ranting and fussing about something utterly preposterous. And usually Hermione was right, and was able to turn the other two to her point of view. However, tonight as she listened to Harry angrily voice his opinions about a certain pale-haired Slytherin boy, she was forced to admit he made some valid points.

"I mean, come on," Harry snarled, his emerald eyes flashing behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "We know for a fact he got the Dark Mark this summer. We saw as much when we ran into him at Madam Malkins' before school started. And you can't tell me he hasn't been acting shifty lately."

Ron agreed, taking a huge bite of potatoes. " 'E has, 'Arry. Bloody right you are. Damn ferret."

"But Harry," Hermione said, amber eyes thoughtful. "Why would he want to curse Katie Bell, of all people?"

Harry shrugged, brushing a lock of shaggy black hair out of his face. "Maybe it was meant for someone else."

Hermione hummed deep in her throat, her brow furrowed as she glanced over the sea of black robes to the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy sat, picking at his plate. His cheekbones stood out in stark prominence, his silver eyes shadowed. His shoulders were tense. She noted the dark circles under his eyes and the shaggy blonde hair that used to be sleek and smooth. Malfoy looked…distracted.

"Hermione?"

She jerked her attention back to Harry. "Oh, yes?"

He frowned at her. "I asked if you would keep an eye on him. You know, since you're a prefect and all…and more subtle than Ron."

"Oi!" Ron grumbled, his own Prefect badge glinting under the light of the hundreds of candles floating above the tables. "But he's right, 'Mione. You're better at that kind of thing than I am."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think you two are right. He has been acting rather oddly lately."

Harry smiled at her, and she smiled back before turning her attention to her dinner, her mind churning.

She would definitely be watching Draco Malfoy very carefully.

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Hermione revised her prefect schedule and spent days patrolling the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was located. She rarely saw Malfoy, however. After dinner was over, he very rarely was amongst the throng of students meandering back to their common rooms for the night. Which left the very important question of: Where was he going?

Hermione sighed, scanning the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall. Much like the last week and a half, Malfoy was not among them. She couldn't understand how he disappeared so frequently, and for so long. He couldn't be leaving the castle, and she checked the library, Owlery, Quidditch pitch, and kitchens. He was nowhere to be found.

She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she once again lost the Slytherin prince. She finished her Prefect rounds and made her way back up to the Gryffindor tower. But as she turned the corner into the seventh floor corridor, she caught a flash of pale blonde. Could it be…?

She crept forward as quietly as possible, feeling a jolt of triumph as she recognized Malfoy. He seemed uneasy, glancing over his shoulder as he paced back and forth in front of a blank wall. Hermione sighed in exasperation. Of course. The Room of Requirement. Why hadn't she considered that he might be hiding out there?

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind before a plain wooden door suddenly appeared in the wall. Malfoy looked behind him once more before slipping through the door, which began to fade. Making a split-second decision, Hermione rushed forward, grabbing the handle before it disappeared. With a yank, she pulled the door open, entering the Room. She quietly pulled the door closed behind her, looking around.

The Room was dim and filled with heaps of clutter. Random items were piled everywhere, some piles reaching all the way up to the ceiling. Hermione made her way through the Room until she came upon Malfoy. He had his back to her and was staring at what looked like a large wardrobe. She narrowed her eyes. What was he doing?

Malfoy drew his wand a conjured and brightly colored canary. The little bird chirped merrily as it perched on Malfoy's pale fingers. Malfoy stroked its feathers for a moment before opening the wardrobe, which Hermione now realized was a very large cabinet. He set the little bird on the top shelf of the cabinet and closed the door. Closing his eyes, he tapped the cabinet with his wand and murmured something lowly, too quiet for Hermione to hear. Curious, she crept a bit closer. Malfoy opened his eyes and took a deep breath before pulling the door open again. Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth the stifle her gasp.

The little canary lay on the shelf, clearly dead. Malfoy cursed and ran a hand through his pale hair in agitation. Hermione backed away, her mind whirling. Without warning, her foot knocked into a small skate. She tripped, falling backwards into one of the huge piles, which shuddered ominously before crashing to the floor. Malfoy spun around, wand drawn. His grey eyes darkened with anger when he saw Hermione.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled, ugly red blotches forming on his pale cheekbones. Hermione stood up slowly, wincing as she rubbed the tender spot on her lower back where she fell.

"I'm a Prefect, Malfoy, and you're out past curfew," she said haughtily, clutching her own wand.

Malfoy advanced on her slowly, like a predator stalking his prey. "Do you know what you just did, mudblood?"

Hermione narrowed her amber eyes, anger coursing through her. "I think I just caught you doing something you most certainly shouldn't be doing. What is that thing, anyway?" She pushed past Malfoy and stared at the cabinet.

"You just couldn't mind your own business, could you, Granger? You just had to stick your filthy little nose where it didn't belong."

Hermione tore her gaze away from the cabinet and turned to face Malfoy.

"Professor Dumbledore will be very interested in this, I think."

Malfoy smirked, raising a brow. "What makes you think I'll let you leave?"

Hermione frowned. "You can't stop me."

Malfoy chuckled, stepping toward her in one fluid, graceful motion. "Wouldn't it be such a shame if you were to just…vanish?"

Unease prickled on the back of Hermione's neck as she took a step back. Malfoy had a dangerous glint in his eyes, and Hermione didn't doubt he would hurt her. She drew her own wand, pointing it at his chest.

"Back off, Malfoy."

He stepped closer. "Too bad, Granger. Won't Potter be sad when you're gone? Do you reckon he'll cry?"

"Last chance, Malfoy. Back off."

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "Too late, mudblood." Without warning, he reached forward and shoved Hermione. She gasped, flailing as she fell backward a second time, this time into the cabinet. Malfoy sneered down at her, malicious glee filling his face. He pointed his wand at her.

"_Harmonia Nectere Passus!_"

Thinking fast, she reached out and snagged his ankle, pulling him forward on top of her. There was a flash of bright blue light and then she felt as though she were being squeezed through a tube. Panic engulfed her and pain lit up her nerve endings. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, the sensation of falling overwhelming her before darkness hit.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione blearily opened her eyes a crack before groaning and closing them again. The hot sun that was relentlessly beating told her logical mind that she was outside, and it was day. That was such a far cry from where she last was, in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts at night, that she had to just lay very still for a moment and process it.

She remembered what had happened in flashes. She remembered the strange cabinet, and Draco Malfoy's gleefully malicious face as he shoved her into it.

"What if you were to just….vanish?"

She remembered the shock and rage in his pale eyes as she grabbed his slim ankle and jerked him forward. She remembered the horrible pain that engulfed her as Malfoy's spell took effect. Now she just needed to figure out where she was.

She bravely cracked open an eye again. Blinding hot light assaulted her temples. She groaned again. Okay. She could do this with her eyes closed. She listened intently. There was the sound of a waves lapping against a shore. And then she heard a low moan.

Pain forgotten, she jerked upright, her brown eyes narrowed.

"MALFOY!" she screeched.

The Slytherin in question laid a few feet away from her, curled in fetal position. Hermione only very briefly noted that they were on a beach before picking up a rock and hurling it at Malfoy, who yelped.

"You stupid, sodding, bloody FERRET!" Hermione looked around. "Where the hell is my wand? When I find my wand, I am going to curse you so hard you're mother will feel it!"

"Shut up, Granger," Malfoy groaned.

"Do NOT tell me to shut up! What did you do to us?"

Malfoy moaned again, sitting up and clutching his head. "Bloody hangover."

"You aren't hung-over, you idiot," Hermione snarled. "You and your stupid cabinet somehow sent us here. Where 'here' is, I have no bloody idea!"

"Language, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "That's no way for a woman to speak, even one with such inferior breeding."

"When I find my wand…"

Malfoy smirked. "It's right there." He pointed.

Hermione followed his finger and her heart dropped. Her wand was lying a short distance away in the pale golden sand. In two separate pieces.

Tears filled her eyes as she scooped her broken wand up, cradling it in her hands.

Malfoy laughed harshly. "That's what all mudbloods deserve."

Hermione looked up, anger and grief flashing in her eyes. "Then where's YOUR wand, pureblood?"

Malfoy smirked as he shoved a hand into his pocket, but the smirk soon slipped off his face.

"Bloody hell!" he swore angrily. "I must have dropped it back in the Room…when you grabbed me!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare blame this on me, Malfoy. You were the one who shoved me into that cabinet and…I don't know, Apparated us here."

Malfoy scoffed. "The Cabinet is broken, Granger. The only thing it does is kill things."

"Apparently," Hermione said acidly. "A pity it didn't seem to work on you, then." Her sharp gaze caught a glint of silver in the sand at Malfoy's feet, and before he could react she bent down and swiped it up.

"What's this?" she asked, staring at the small silver key.

Malfoy cursed again. "That's the key to the Cabinet. Explains a lot, really."

Hermione raised a brow. "Explains what?"

"The key is part of the Cabinet, Granger," he sneered. "Therefore it's bound to have some residual magic."

Hermione frowned. "What exactly was that cabinet?"

"It was one part of a Vanishing Cabinet," Malfoy said impatiently. "Surely a know-it-all such as yourself knows what that is."

"Of course," Hermione said primly. "They were used during the first war to escape attacks. But why was there one in Hogwarts?"

Malfoy smirked.

"You bloody bastard!" Hermione breathed in horror, realization dawning. 'You were going to bring Death Eaters into the school!"

His smirk grew.

"That's monstrous!"

"No," he corrected smoothly, "it's brilliant."

She lifted the key up again and studied it. "So the residual magic from the Cabinet caused this key to act as a portkey of sorts?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Seems like it."

"So what activated it?"

Malfoy huffed. "Me saying the spell to activate the Cabinet, obviously."

Hermione thought for a moment before reaching around her neck and unclasping the silver locket that her mother had given her for her thirteenth birthday. She threaded the delicate silver chain through the hole in the top of the key and clasped it around her neck, the key falling into place next to the locket.

Malfoy raised an elegant brow. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Just in case." She pursed her lips as she looked around. The beach they were on was clearly on an island. Hermione had seen enough movies and read enough books to recognize a deserted island when she saw one, though it seemed slightly surreal. She turned back to Malfoy, who was brushing sand off his robes with a look of disgust on his pale face.

"Do you know how to Apparate?"

He glowered at her. "Do you think I'd still be here if I did?"

She ignored his sarcasm and frowned. "Me either."

"Good to know," Malfoy grumbled. She glared at him.

"Yes, it certainly is 'good to know.' Would you like to know why? Because neither of us has a wand and neither of us can Apparate, so that means we are trapped on a possibly deserted island Merlin knows where with no food, no water, and no MAGIC!"

Malfoy froze, a horrified look of comprehension dawning on his face. He dropped to his knees in the warm sand.

"I think I'm going to be sick."


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione sighed as she gathered up more driftwood to feed the fire. Her family had enjoyed hiking and camping when she was younger, so she had some experience in building a fire, which was lucky because Malfoy was steadfastly refusing to help, claiming "muggle work" was beneath him. He ignored Hermione when she pointed out that without his wand, he was basically a muggle himself. An incredulous look and haughty sniff were the only indication that he had heard her.

She made her way back to the small fire she had made in the middle of the beach. She had spent the afternoon exploring the island and was resigned to learn her earlier assumption of it being deserted was quite correct. The foliage and colorful birds, as well as the warmth of the crystal-blue water, seemed to indicate that they were somewhere In the tropics.

Hermione dropped the driftwood in a pile before sitting down in the sand. She and Malfoy had removed their robes earlier when the sun became too intense. Both were still in their school uniforms and barefoot.

"Malfoy," she said, striving to make her voice as neutral as possible. "Have you thought about how were are going to get back?"

He eyed her. "Well, that bloody key brought us here in the first place, didn't it?"

Hermione grimaced. "But…it hurt so bad. And besides, we have no way of knowing it would work again. What if the residual magic wore off? Or worse, what if it didn't take us back to Hogwarts, but left us…I don't know, under the ocean or inside a volcano?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes in disgust. "Must you be so melodramatic?"

She flushed angrily. "It's entirely possible! Didn't a student end up in the u-bend of a toilet because of that blasted Cabinet?"

He smirked at the memory. "Ah, yes. He was how I got the idea for the Cabinet, actually."

"Bully for him," Hermione groused, digging her toes into the warm sand. Firelight flickered across her as she stared out at the sun setting over the calm waves. "So pretty," she murmured.

Malfoy followed her gaze. "Boring," he proclaimed haughtily. "You know what I would like to see, Granger? You making me some bloody food."

"Let me get right on that, Malfoy," she retorted. "Let me just go into the kitchen and cook us up a four-course meal. Better yet, let's just summon a house elf."

"You pretty much are a house elf, mudblood," Malfoy shot back. She rolled her eyes, laying back.

"Maybe WE can find some fruit in the morning. Unless you know how to fish?"

Malfoy looked appalled.

"Thought not," she murmured, closing her eyes. The crackling fire and lapping waves soon lulled her to sleep.

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The next morning found Hermione and Malfoy standing below a tree, staring up into the foliage.

"Coconuts," Malfoy drawled. "How clichéd."

Hermione frowned. "Not very plausible to live on coconuts, but it's better than nothing, I suppose."

"Well then, go get them," Malfoy said, leaning back into the shade of the tree, sweat plastering his pale hair to his head. Hermione stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

He sighed impatiently. "Scurry on up the tree like a good little mudblood monkey and get some blasted coconuts."

Hermione growled under her breath, visions of knocking Malfoy upside the head with said coconuts very appealing.

"I am not climbing a tree in a skirt, Malfoy."

He rolled his eyes. "Then take it off."

Hermione sputtered incoherently, and he smirked.

"Oh please. As if I'd be even remotely interested in anything you would have to advertise."

Words failed Hermione as she narrowed her eyes at him. Stalking toward him, she landed one solid punch to his gut. Her hand stung something fierce, but she was gratified when he doubled over, wheezing. Haughtily, she turned her back to him and stormed off through the dense growth that led inland. She walked for almost a mile before she came to a small clearing. She stepped into it and grinned when she saw the fat green watermelons that were growing in the shade of the trees. Hoisting up a few, she turned to make her way back to the beach.

Malfoy was sitting sullenly by the fire, two coconuts beside him. Hermione raised a brow as approached.

"Get your own fire," he muttered, glaring at her balefully. "For that matter, get your own bloody island."

Hermione said nothing, merely offered him a melon. He took it suspiciously, eyeing her.

"What is it?"

She stared at him. "Haven't you ever seen a watermelon before?"

He flushed, red blotches forming on his high cheekbones. "Not like this. It's always red and cut up."

She rolled her eyes, cracking open her melon. Juice splashed out as she took a huge bite, savoring the sweet warm fruit. Malfoy looked revolted.

"Must you behave like an animal?"

She looked at him. "And how are you going to eat yours, Mr. Civilized? You seem to have forgotten your silver spoon at home."

Malfoy glared at her, but then sighed and broke open his melon as well. The two ate in silence, the tension between them nearly unbearable. Hermione finally broke it.

"We need to start thinking about finding shelter."

Malfoy looked at her, askance. "Absolutely not. One, that would imply we are here indefinitely, and two, I refuse to live in the same dwelling as a mudblood."

Hermione glared at him, standing up. "Fine," she said coolly. "Don't come running to me when monsoon season hits."

Summoning every bit of knowledge she remembered from books and movies she had seen about being stranded on islands, she was able to fashion together a crude shelter that closely resembled Eeyore's house in her favorite children's book. She wiggled into it, burrowing into the leaves she had piled into bed.

"Really?" a voice drawled as Malfoy stuck his head in. "Typical. Does it remind you of home, mudblood? Bet this is high class compared to where you come from."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," she growled.

He laughed, kicking a foot out. The entire structure came crashing down on Hermione is a heap of branches and leaves. She jumped up, furious.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she yelled, jabbing a finger into Malfoy's chest. "Why can't you crawl away and go live with the wild pigs or drown yourself or something?"

Malfoy grabbed her wrist painfully, his stormy eyes reflecting the overcast evening sky. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands, mudblood."

Hermione stepped closer, breathing hard, her own amber eyes alight with a fierce fire. "Or what? You going to hex me? Oh, wait. I forgot. You can't. You don't have a wand, so you're pretty much just a useless muggle!:"

Malfoy slapped her across the face. She stared up at him in shock before growling and kicking him. In the groin. He fell to the sand, writhing in pain. Hermione glared down at him.

"Never speak to me again. You stay on your side of the island and I will stay on mine."

He glared up at her. "Go die, mudblood."

She walked away.

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It had been roughly four days since she had ceased to talk to Malfoy. He stayed over on the left side of the island and she remained on the right. She occasionally looked over and saw him sitting miserably on the beach, despondently staring at a melon. Hermione had a small fire going and had a supply of melons, bananas, and had managed to catch a crab, which was roasting over a fire. She smirked.

It had been cloudy and humid for days now, and her already frizzy hair had reached epic proportions. She swatted it out of her face impatiently as she scanned the sky, a bit anxious. Lightning flashed in the distance and the waves crashed against the shore ominously. She cast a doubtful eye over her rebuilt shelter. She harbored no illusions of it protecting her from a storm. She would have to venture inland to seek shelter. She glanced over at Malfoy again, resolving herself to not feel guilty. His pale hair was mussed and damp and his skin was flushed with an angry sunburn. He looked disheveled, which was a rarity for the young Malfoy. She turned resolutely away. He deserved it. The wind picked up with a vengeance, and she frowned, looking out toward the sea.

The water was as black and roiling as the sky, and she felt prickles of unease on the back of her neck. Lightning flashed again, this time accompanied by the crack of thunder, The air felt like a hot, wet blanket was stifling her. She began to make her way toward the trees inland, but the wind made it nearly impossible to walk. A low, dull roar had begun to build up, punctuated by the waves slamming against the beach. Trees swayed dangerously, and lightning flashed again.

Hermione began to get very worried. Rain started pelting down, stinging her skin like hot needles. She began to run, but skidded to a stop as a tree came crashing down in front of her. Sand swirled about, burning her eyes. She coughed, struggling to breath in the hot wind. She turned back to the beach and saw a terrifying sight.

The wind was blowing the rain sideways, and as such it hadn't put her fire out. On the contrary, it had blew flaming bits of driftwood into the strands of trees nearby Malfoy, which sparked up in the gusts of the storm. Hermione watched in horror as Flaming debris swirled around Malfoy, who yelped and began running. He was stopped by another tree, this one in flames, crashing down. Lightning crashed again and the roar grew even more fearsome. Hermione could hardly see through the sand and smoke, but she struggled against the wind to Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" she screamed. Her throat burning as ash and hot sand swirled into it. "Malfoy!"

She couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, and then he was beside her, a trickle of blood running down his soot-stained face. She grabbed his arm with one hand, clutching her locket and the key with the other.

"The spell!" she shouted.

Malfoy blinked at her, fear reflected in his eyes.

"WHAT IS THE SPELL?" she screamed over the wind. Lightning struck the beach nearby, making them both jump.

"_H-Har-"_ he coughed. She gripped his arm tighter. "_Harmonia Nectere…"_

A strange tingling sensation tickled the back of his neck, like static, and Hermione gasped. He barely had time to react before she pushed him forward, a bolt of lightning striking the spot they were standing.. Malfoy could feel the scorching heat and crackling electricity from it, and the impact made him fall backwards.

"_Hermonia Nectere Passus!" _he bellowed hoarsely.

There was another loud crack and Malfoy felt as though he was being stretched unpleasantly. The roar of the storm faded to the roar of his blood pounding in his ears as the air was squeezed out of his lungs. He clenched his eyes closed as he spun and spun and spun.

Finally, the spinning and the squeezing stopped and he opened his eyes, blinking.

A calm night sky greeted him, a million stars glittering like fireflies. He breathed a deep sigh of relief before turning to Hermione. He froze.

She was lying in a crumpled heap nearby, her Hogwarts uniform torn and dirty. Her hair was a tangled mess and her honey-colored eyes were dazed. A nasty burn covered the back of her legs and a terrible gash had split open her side. She gingerly touched the wound with a hand, staring at the blood bemusedly.

"Funny," she murmured, entranced by the glistening scarlet drops. "It doesn't look like mud."

Then she passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

Malfoy stared down at Hermione in bemusement before looking around him. The landscape stretched on for as far as he could see, sand and scraggly bushes shadowed in the bright moonlight. Far off in the distance an animal howled, and a dry breeze ruffled his still-damp, matted hair. He frowned, turning his gaze back to the injured Gryffindor girl.

His first instinct was to take the key back and walk away. He didn't need her. She was an unnecessary burden, and if they made it back to Hogwarts helping her would be all for naught, since the Death Eaters would kill her for being a mudblood.

But even as these thoughts ran through his head, something niggled at the back of his mind. Granger hadn't _had _to save him back on the island. She could have used the key by herself to get away and avoid injury. It's certainly what _he _would have done.

But she hadn't. She had thrown herself through the fire and storm to find him, and she had probably saved his life when she pushed him away from the lightning strike. He winced, remembering the terrible crack. He had minor burns on his own arms and legs from it, though nothing like the mess Granger had.

He sneered down at her prone body. Stupid bloody Gryffindors, always trying to be the hero. He turned to walk away, but once again hesitated, that same persistent something becoming even more forceful. He frowned, trying to analyze the strange emotion. All he wanted to do was walk away and leave the worthless girl to die. But at the same time, he couldn't. He growled in frustration, his pale eyes narrowed on the wounded witch. Just because she saved his life didn't mean he had to…

Realization dawned and he paled, cursing dramatically. She saved his life at risk to her own. The bloody girl had earned herself a life debt, a powerful form of magic. It made him practically obligated to help her, whether he liked it or not. He literally wouldn't be able to just walk away, knowing she would die if left here all alone.

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Malfoy sighed in disgust and resignation. Wincing from the soreness of his own body, he bent down and scooped Hermione up, his nose crinkled in revulsion of having to touch her. She moaned lightly, and he grimaced, looking around.

With a sigh, he began walking, not knowing where he was going or where he was. He trudged across dry sand, listening to the strange sounds around him. Despite the barren appearance of the night-shadowed land, it appeared to be teeming with life. He heard the hoots of birds and the faint mournful howls of wild dogs. He heard rustling and shifting sand. Once, he saw a strange insect, translucent white with a long pointed tail curled up over its back, and he saw what he believed to be the shadow of a snake silently slid across his path.

He walked for hours, the landscape never changing, watching the moon sink lower and lower in the indigo sky. The stars glimmered and faded, and the sky became shot with dusky pinks and vibrant lavender as the orange sun peeked over the distant horizon, casting a glow across the land and turning the sand into molten gold. Malfoy could see now some dark blue mountains in the distance, and he adjusted his course toward them.

The sun continued rising, and so did the heat. By early morning, Malfoy was drenched in sweat and his throat felt dry enough to catch on fire. He paused briefly to set Hermione down and remove his shirt, which he tied around his head in a vague instinctual effort to block the relentless sun. He scooped up the girl again, feeling a faint surge of disgust at holding her sweaty, bloody body against his bare skin. He noted the paleness of her face and worried for a moment that she had not regained consciousness.

Sighing, he resumed walking, every step becoming heavier and heavier. His pale skin, already painfully burned from the tropical island sun, burned even more. Pale white blisters formed on his bright red shoulders, and he began to feel faintly sick. His body was wracked with painful spasms as the need for water ravaged him. He blinked stinging sweat out of his eyes and adjusted the mudblood in his arms. She was light, but his back was aching and his arms were shaking from the strain and dehydration.

He walked and walked and walked, endless miles over a sea of sand. Rabbits darted out in front of him and hawks circled above. Snakes slithered beneath scrubby bushes, and once he saw a vicious-looking prickly grey pig nosing some spiny cactus to retrieve a thorny yellow fruit. Thoughtful, he put Hermione down and wiped his brow with an arm, wincing from the pain of his burnt skin as he surveyed a similar plant to the one the pig had been eating.

It was short and squat, with long needles bristling out in all directions. At the very top were three bright flowers and a couple of yellow fruit-like things. Malfoy cast about and found a long stick. Gingerly, he poked the fruit with it. Nothing happened. Eyes narrowed, he whacked the plant, dodging the spines that flew toward him. Triumphant, he picked up the piece of yellow fruit and stared at it for a long moment before bringing it to his mouth and grimacing.

It was warm and sour, tasting vaguely of citrus and grass. The juices filled his mouth, satisfying a very small part of his thirst. He finished the fruit and picked Hermione up, briefly wondering if he should have saved some for her but dismissing the thought quickly. He was the one doing all the work, after all.

He began walking again, trudging on through the sand. His arms burned and protested and he considered just dropping Hermione several times, but couldn't seem to let his arms go. He scowled at the bright sun. Bloody life debt.

The day wore on, the sky blue and cloudless except for a few wispy white swirls. Heat rose of the sand in a shimmering veil, and every muscle in Malfoy's battered body screamed in protest with every step he took. His energy lagged, and his head grew dizzy. He walked and walked and walked, skin burning and eyes drooping. As the sun began its descent behind the mountains and the sky turned golden and purple and violet, he sank to his knees. The hot sand dug into his skin, but he no longer care. His body was on fire, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He laid there, under the dying sun, his body over Hermione's. Life ceased to matter and his surroundings ceased to exist. He closed his eyes, fading into the welcome oblivion. Before surrendering himself entirely, he suddenly heard a voice.

"What do we have here?"

Cracking open an eye blearily, he peered up into a copper-skinned, craggy face. Bright black eyes surveyed him, and long silky black hair tied in a thick braid was tossed over the man's shoulder. Malfoy closed his eye again wearily.

"Not real," he murmured. He heard a low chuckle, and then felt arms around him. He heard a low sound of disapproval at the sight of Hermione, and then he heard more men's voices talking, but the words were a low buzzing in his ears. His brain felt muddled and foggy, and he only briefly registered being lifted up and jolting, jarring movements that were punctuated with muffled hooves beating on the sand.

He couldn't tell how long he was moving, and he couldn't tell when he stopped. He drifted in and out of consciousness, life a slow-moving blur around him. He was laid down on something soft and wetness was forced between his cracked lips, the cool liquid soothing his burning throat. A strange smell filled his nose as something think and cold was rubbed over his tender skin, and a woman's voice floated toward his ears.

He groaned, opening his eyes and blinking. A copper-skinned old woman was kneeling in front of a fire, stirring something in a small pot. At his groan, she turned around, smiling when she saw he was awake. Her thick black hair was shot through with silver and her dark eyes kind.

"You are awake, young one. Very good."

"Where am I?" Malfoy rasped, wincing at the hoarse sound of his voice.

The old woman smiled serenely.

"You are safe," she replied, turning back to the pot. Malfoy blinked, struggling to sit up.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"I am Alameda," she said, wringing out a white cloth dabbing it on his forehead.

"Ala…what?"

She smiled. "It means 'grove of cottonwood'. That is where I was born."

Malfoy furrowed his brow. His head hurt. "Are you a muggle?"

The old woman eyed him shrewdly. "I am a Navajo."

Malfoy frowned. "A what?"

"It is the name of my tribe," she explained.

"Right…"

"And what do you call yourself?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said slowly. "Where exactly am I? Am I in Britain?"

Alameda's brows raised to her hairline. "You are in New Mexico. In America."

Malfoy groaned, sinking back. "America?"

The woman cocked her head curiously, staring at him intently. "Yes."

Malfoy struggled to remember what he knew of the magical community in America. "Is…New Mexico….near Salem?"

An odd light came into the woman's eyes. She shook her head carefully. "You are very far from Massachusetts."

"I'm not looking for Massa-whatever. I'm looking for Salem." He cursed his lack of education in the world outside of pureblood magical Britain.

The woman eyed him shrewdly. "I see. An odd destination. Do you have family there?"

"Sure," Malfoy muttered, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"You appear to have journeyed far with your friend."

He blinked. "Friend? Oh, Granger. She's not my friend."

The woman pursed her lips. "You carried her a great distance. It is strange of you to do so if she is not your friend."

He shrugged vaguely, flinching from his burnt skin.

The woman stared at him a moment longer before reaching into a basket and pulling out a small jar. She opened it, exposing a thick green gel. She carefully smoothed some of the gel onto Malfoy's shoulders, bringing forth almost instant cool relief from the pain.

"Aloe," Alameda said. "It is very good for burns. The girl is still alive, you know."

Malfoy breathed in relief, savoring the coolness. "Super. How can I get to Salem?"

She chuckled, bustling around the small dwelling. "You could try a bus or plane, I suppose."

Malfoy frowned. "Plane?"

She gave him an odd look again, but was saved from answering by a young girl entering the dwelling. She bowed her head respectfully.

"The girl is awake."

Alameda's face cracked into a smile. "Very good. Is she alert?"

The girl nodded, her silky black hair rippling in the firelight. She cast a curious look at Malfoy.

"Aiyana, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Aiyana."

The girl smiled brightly. "Nice to meet you."

Malfoy raised a brow and didn't reply

"Let's go see your friend, shall we?" Alameda said, helping Malfoy stand.

"She's not my friend," he muttered resentfully, but he followed the two females outside. The night air was cool and a large fire was crackling. Several men and women sat around the fire, talking and eating. They all had the same russet skin and dark hair. Many were wearing turquoise jewelry, and Malfoy sneered at their strange clothing.

Alameda and Aiyana led him to another odd, ugly squat dwelling.

"It's called a Hogan," Alameda, said, catching his puzzled and slightly revolted look. "It is a traditional Navajo home."

They entered to find Hermione sitting up, her hair cleaned and braided and her arms and legs wrapped in white gauze.

"Ah," Alameda said, smiling. "How are you feeling, child?"

Hermione smiled back tentatively. "Much better, but still sore."

The old woman nodded. "That is to be expected. You required stitches in your side and your skin is very burned. I am afraid it may scar."

Hermione nodded, but knew that Madam Pomfrey could heal any scarring she had when they returned to Hogwarts.

"Your friend says you are trying to get to Salem."

"I am NOT her friend," Malfoy spat. Hermione looked at him in confusion. His eyes narrowed on the silver key hanging from her neck. She saw his gaze and frowned, sliding the chain under the dark brown shirt she was wearing.

"You're going to Salem?"

He leveled her with a haughty look. "I am going back to my own kind. I have no intention of staying around these primitive muggles…though this is exactly where creatures like _you _belong."

Hermione groaned, but Aiyana spoke up first.

"Muggles?" she asked curiously.

Malfoy shot her a derisive look. "Non-magical people."

Aiyana looked to Alameda, who merely smiled.

"Why do you say we are not magic? Alameda has the magic within her to heal you. The elders have the magic of wisdom, and we all have the magic of life."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Touching," he sneered. "But none of you can do actual magic. I can."

Aiyana thought for a moment. "Can she?" She pointed to Hermione.

Malfoy frowned. "Well, yes. But she shouldn't be able to."

"Why not?"

"Because," Malfoy said, frustrated. "She is a mudblood, and unworthy."

Aiyana narrowed her dark eyes. "Your words do not make sense. I helped in her healing, and I saw her blood. It is not mud."

Malfoy was suddenly assaulted by a memory.

"_Funny," Hermione murmured, staring at the glistening scarlet drops of her blood. "It doesn't look like mud." _

He shook his head fiercely. "I don't mean actual mud, you stupid girl."

"Malfoy!" Hermione snapped.

He ignored her. "I mean she isn't pure. Her parents are nothing but filthy low-class muggles."

"Then how did she get this magic you speak of?"

Malfoy sneered. "She probably stole it."

Aiyana looked toward Hermione, who was mortified at Malfoy's words.

"I do not believe you are a magic-thief," she said. Hermione smiled weakly.

"Come now," Alameda interjected, looking at Malfoy sternly. "Both of you should rest before anything else. Let us return to my home and we will have some supper before bed. Aiyana, you may stay here with Hermione and eat."

Aiyana flashed her grandmother a smile and then scowled at Malfoy, who sneered back. Alameda took Malfoy's shoulders firmly, and he jerked away from her touch.

"Keep your hands off me, you barbaric muggle!"

The old woman was unfazed. "If you want food, young man, you will follow me." She strode out without looking back, and after one last sneer in Hermione's direction, he reluctantly followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione took a bite of her dinner, savoring the spices that exploded on her tongue. Aiyana smiled at the look of appreciation on her face.

"This is very good," Hermione said. "What is it?"

"It is beans, frybread, and roasted corn," the Navajo girl replied.

"It's a far cry from what we eat in my boarding school," Hermione said, taking another bite.

"Where is your school?" Aiyana asked curiously.

"Scotland."

Aiyana's dark eyes widened. "So far? How did you come to be here?"

Hermione bit her lip. "It was kind of an accident."

Aiyana still looked puzzled. "How does one 'accidentally' end up thousands of miles away from home? For that matter, how did you come by your injuries?"

Hermione sighed, wondering how much to tell the girl. "I….it's a long story," she said lamely.

Aiyana cocked her head. "Is it because of the magic that rude boy was talking about?"

Hermione cast about for an excuse, but then gave in. Malfoy had already said enough, anything she said now wouldn't hurt. "Yes. You see, I'm a witch, and Malfoy is a wizard. The boarding school we go to in Scotland is a school of magic." She could see Aiyana listening intently, so she continued. "The magical world is divided into different factions, all based on breeding and blood status. Purebloods are at the top, and they rule most of magical Britain. Then come half-bloods, wizards and witches who have one magical parent and one non-magical parent. Lowest in the hierarchy are muggleborns, people like me who come from two non-magical parents."

Aiyana processed this, looking a bit skeptical. "That boy called you a mudblood."

Hermione sighed. "That's just a derogative term for a muggleborn."

"So," the dark-eyed girl said slowly. "You are saying you can do magic. Can you show me?"

Hermione shook her head ruefully. "My wand got snapped when we ended up on the island."

Aiyana's eyes widened again. "Island?"

Hermione gave her a brief recap of her experience with Malfoy on the island.

Aiyana frowned ferociously. "This Malfoy, he is a bad wizard, then?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, you could say that. How do the Navajo people view witchcraft?"

"We believe that there are natural places where powers for both good and evil are concentrated, and that those sacred powers can be harnessed for good, like for healing, or evil, for harm. Navajo witches also believe that objects such as hair or personal items can be used for good or evil. Within Navajo spirituality, the spiritual and the physical worlds are tightly intertwined, so pieces of physical objects like bone, hair or other items hold strong supernatural properties that can be manipulated. For the most part, only a very thin line separates the living from the dead, the good from the evil, and the medicine man from the Navajo witch."

Hermione nodded slowly, thinking that over. "We come from very different cultures. It's amazing to think about how completely different we are."

Aiyana smiled brightly. "I do not think we are very different at all. Tomorrow, if my grandmother allows you to move about, you may attend my Kinaalda. It is the ceremony of womanhood."

Hermione smiled. "I would like that."

The two girls grinned at each other and continued eating in companionable silence.

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"I am not eating this disgusting muggle food," Malfoy snarled, pushing his plate away in supreme disgust. Alameda was unfazed.

"Then you will go hungry," she said simply.

Malfoy sneered at her. "If I had my wand, I would hex you twenty ways to Sunday."

The old woman merely raised a brow. "That is probably why the spirits took your wand, then."

Malfoy sputtered. "Excuse me, nothing took my wand. That blasted mudblood made me drop it."

"Perhaps," Alameda said calmly, "you do not appreciate your magic."

The Slytherin sneered at her. "Of course I do, you cow. How dare you say I don't?"

The Navajo woman stared at him sternly. "I can see you use your gift for evil, and that is a shame. Perhaps you are unworthy of such power."

Malfoy was stunned silent before fury broke free. "Why you…I am the most worthy there is, you crazy old woman. I am a Malfoy, descendant of a noble and pureblood line. My name is greatly respected and feared."

"What's in a name?" Alameda said dismissively. "It is what is within you that truly counts. Perhaps this is your punishment for your bad ways."

Malfoy clenched a fist. "I ought to kill you for your slander."

Alameda looked unfazed. "Tomorrow, you will join my people for my granddaughter's kinaalda."

"I won't be anywhere near you filthy muggles," Malfoy retorted. "I will be heading to Salem."

Alameda raised a brow. "And how will you be getting there?"

Malfoy thought about the small silver key around Granger's neck and smirked. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

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Hermione watched with interest as Aiyana was dressed in her finest clothes. Her silky black hair was brushed to a sheen and braided with turquoise beads and her eyes were lined in black kohl. Her face was flushed from her morning run. Hermione watched as a mat was rolled out just outside the hogan and Aiyana was laid upon it. Alameda and a few women Hermione didn't know adjusted Aiyana's arms and legs, massaging her to make her shape more feminine. After that, a particularily beautiful copper-skinned woman stepped forward, taking Aiyana and arranging her hair in a particular form of knot, wrapping it with deerskin strings. Alameda had informed Hermione that this was called a tsklolh.

Soon, dusk fell and everyone gathered around a fire. Alameda motioned for Hermione to join, and she did so, feeling honored to be included. She noticed Malfoy lounging against the wall to a nearby hogan, looking bored. She ignored him.

When dusk had settled, the Medicine man stood and began his songs. He began with the twelve songs of the Bahozhonchi. Several people sang along, clapping along. Some of the girls began to dance, their long hair shining in the firelight. Aiyana's face was flushed with pleasure, and Hermione grinned at her new friend.

Oblivious to the celebrating around him, Malfoy edged closer to Hermione, his pale eyes on the glint of her locket. Hermione didn't notice him. Her honey-colored eyes were sparkling and she was singing along with the others. She still looked tired and worse for wear, but she was joining in the muggle festivities.

Malfoy came up behind Hermione, the flames flickering across his face, making his grey eyes glimmer maliciously. Alameda looked toward him with sadness in her dark eyes, but made no move to stop him. Hermione gasped as she felt a tug around her neck, and she spun around to see Malfoy holding her locket-and the key. She locked eyes with him and he smirked.

The singing and dancing continued around them, the smell of mesquite from the fire filling their senses. The firelight danced across them as Hermione took a step forward. Malfoy stepped back, holding the necklace above her head.

"See you, mudblood," he drawled, turning to run. His long legs took him away from the fire and the sounds of singing grew faint behind him. He heard Granger running behind him, but he was in much better shape due to Quidditch. He panted as he closed his hand around the key. He focused his thoughts on both Salem and Hogwarts.

""_Harmonia Nectere Passus!_"

Hermione heard his intake of breath before he uttered the spell, and she ignored her burning lungs and the sores on her legs as she pushed herself forward, leaping through the air. Her hand brushed against Malfoy's pale arm and he scowled down at her before the now-familiar pain of the transportation cracked them into darkness.


End file.
